


Ineffable Retirement

by ActonBlack



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Fluff, Gabriel is Awful, Happy Ending, Historical Inaccuracy, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands Week 2019, Intense, Retirement, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-10 23:29:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20536418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ActonBlack/pseuds/ActonBlack
Summary: Crowley wakes up injured after their infamous switch to face the bureaucracy. Gabriel believes it is time for him to face God’s judgement. Crowley cares about two worldly beings, his Bentley and Aziraphale.No Beta !





	Ineffable Retirement

When Crowley wakes up, everything is sore. All around him are bright white new-age lights. It’s hard for him to see anything at all. The last thing he remembers before blacking out is stepping out of the tickling of fiend fyre. There was an entirely too angry look on Gabriel’s face, and a shouting somewhere in the distance. Here, there is a ringing. It fills Crowley’s senses momentarily, and makes his skin crawl inward. He can’t tell if it is tinnitus or if it’s something else.

The pain comes in waves. First he feels the gauges in his chest area. It feels awful, but not nearly as bad as the broken bones in his legs. He can feel just how out of place they are, but the worst part with them is the seemingly horrible gashes open to the air. Everything he inventories hurts, and because of this, it takes him a moment to realize that his arms have been bound behind him. They’ve anchored his body to a marble post. 

Gasping when all of the pain seems to focus full force- his voice echoes in an otherworldly manner. When his eyes finally focus, he blinks and stares ahead. Sitting in front of him, is Aziraphale, looking as panicked as he feels. He dare not speak, for whom may be listening, but he tilts his head in sympathy. The man looks positively dreadful, and a rage burns within him for the perpetrator of such ruin to his friend. 

Turning to the left momentarily, hoping for clues, he finds Aziraphale, again. This time at a different angle. In that moment, he realizes that the body that is dreadfully broken feeling, IS Aziraphale. He’s still occupying his friends normal mortal body. Never has he been more grateful that he’d kept his mouth shut. 

Clamoring from above makes Crowley look up. Above him is a balcony, filled with angels. These angel’s look on in a menacing manner. In his best Aziraphale impression, he manages a few syllables. “Oh, dear.”

Gabriel, the noisy, narcissistic archangel speaks. “We’ve brought you to the most holy sacrifice chamber for true judgement by God herself.” Silence surrounds him, it makes his pulse quicken, and his thoughts to wander to his dearest friend. “You shall remain here, in this state, until she deems fit to answer on your fate.”

It is then, that Crowley feels his chest fill with sorrow. He doesn’t believe in the ineffable plan any longer, and therefore believes that the woman will leave him in such a position. The by-standers remain in silence for nearly ten minutes. Until the already bright light begins to intensify. Disbelief fills him as a few of the light bulbs burst, when he was sure such a thing wasn’t possible.

“Gabriel. What is the meaning of this?” God scolds her most holy soldier. “I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but this is most definitely an unforgivable sin.” A few balls of light, very fairy-like, float from the ineffable beyond. They unbind him, seemingly without effort. Slowly his wounds are healed, and he knows that God knows who he really is. 

Something akin to losing consciousness happens to Crowley. Soon, he’s standing in a warm toned chamber. Neither heaven, nor hell-like. He’s wearing his favorite leather jacket, boots, and instinctively his fingers find the key to the Bentley in his pocket. “Hi Crowley,” it’s his corporeal chosen image, so he’s unsure of what’s become of Aziraphale’s body in heaven. “You and Aziraphale have stirred things up, haven’t you?” 

Sliding his hands into his pockets, he moves his head back and forth uncertainly. “You could say that.” It’s the best he’s got for her majesty. Crowley can’t see her, but the warmth of her smile fills the chamber, and a few golden lights dance around him. 

God has a smile in her voice when she speaks next. “You and Aziraphale have served my ineffable plan well enough for a retirement of sorts, what do you think?” Crowley squints leaning forward and feeling the uncertainty well in his gut. “I was thinking a cozy English city, with a nice country-side, and for friends to join you if they wish?”

This does it, Crowley removes his glasses to stare directly into the light in disbelief. “I’m- a- demon?” The words fall rather staccato from his lips, rather than slippery like they normally did. Someone who fell. It’s the title of his autobiography in another life.

Slowly the room feels a bit drafty, and uncomfortable. “Beings learn, grow, and understand in their own time Crowley. I believe that you’ve found your equilibrium.” This feels completely planned yet spontaneous. Like the step four you didn’t fully write out, but had a vague idea for. 

“With Aziraphale? Would he be happy?”

A small laugh fills the silence, and then a voice, seemingly recorded sounds as well. “Why that sounds wonderful- but Crowley- what about him? Would that be what he wants?” An ache in his chest forms and he feels Aziraphale’s absence deeply. 

The room feels impossibly warm in response, but never uncomfortable. “If that’s what he wants, then we shall have it. I accept.” All of his statements feel empty without holy title for her. But everything seems to burn up in his vocabulary as he forms sentences. 

“Then it shall be-” the world twists and contorts. He lands, ceremonially on his ass, on the front lawn of a cottage. Standing in the doorway in front of him, is Aziraphale, a blinding grin on his face. 

“Took you long enough dear. Come on, you, I’ve made some tea.” The sun sets, and Crowley’s eyes catch the color change in the tint of his Bentley.


End file.
